


New Normal

by foundthesun



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Dreams and Nightmares, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fade to Black, First Kiss, First Time, Ineffable Husbands (Good Omens), M/M, POV Aziraphale (Good Omens), Pet Names, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-21
Updated: 2019-06-21
Packaged: 2020-05-16 02:16:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,334
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19308595
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/foundthesun/pseuds/foundthesun
Summary: They didn't talk about what had happened, either, not beyond the few stray stories they traded that were actually funny. It was probably better that way, or at least he'd managed to convince himself of that. Every so often, his mind would drift to the dark, dank halls he'd been marched down, of the demon he saw killed in front of him and the wails of his pain, and it’d be almost too much to bear. Keeping busy helped with that too, kept his mind off it, because he was nothing if not an expert in the art of ignoring looming problems. He spent his days deciding he'd put all of what was still needed to be addressed to the side for another day, then another, until 'putting it all aside' became the default.





	New Normal

Two months after the apocalypse that wasn't, a new normal had started to settle in.

 

Crowley had become a bit of a staple in the bookshop since things had died down. Aziraphale had wondered, after the dust had settled, what an untethered version of his companion would look like. The answer apparently was something akin to having acquired a shop cat (or shop _snake_ , he supposed) – he’d disappear for a little while, traveling or partying or doing whatever Crowley found enjoyable for a few days at most, and then suddenly he was just there again, usually asleep on his couch in the back area of the shop. The first time it happened, he’d been surprised. The second time, he’d been amused. Now?

 

Now it’d become just another part of his routine; a routine he’d fallen into as his own way of dealing with how things had become. No communication with anyone from Above had left him a bit adrift, so he consequently threw himself into caring for his shop to give him some sort of _purpose_. He’d even started to open the place a little more often lately, though that particular decision meant he had to find new ways to scare people off when they got a little too interested in buying. There was the idea of actually _going_ with Crowley to wherever he kept running off to, of course. Their clandestine meetings weren't so clandestine any longer, after all, he just hadn’t quite gotten up the nerve to go along with him, even in the face of him outright suggesting he tag along.

 

There was a time he could easily delude himself into excusing the avoidant behavior for anything but what it was. That time had passed; he'd had too many of his feelings surface to do that any longer. Instead, the crux of the problem stared at him with every interaction with him he had lately: there'd be a point where long hidden truths came out, and there was always a danger in being around him long enough that those truths might slip out in a way he didn't plan. As the days kept moving along and he got no closer to knowing how to bring the subject up, he simply staved the demon off by making up stories of endless amounts of book shop chores any time he asked. He knew Crowley would never to offer to help him with that sort of busywork, and though he often tried to argue him relaxing for once, he ultimately just let it be.

 

They didn't talk about what had happened, either, not beyond the few stray stories they traded that were actually funny. It was probably better that way, or at least he'd managed to convince himself of that. Every so often, his mind would drift to the dark, stark halls he'd been marched down, of the demon he saw killed in front of him and the screams of pain, and it’d be almost too much to bear. Keeping busy helped with that too, kept his mind off it, because he was nothing if not an expert in the art of ignoring looming problems.He spent his days deciding he'd put all of what was still needed to be addressed to the side for another day, then another, until ' _putting it all aside_ ' became the default.

 

In his defense, it wasn't as though Crowley was pushing to sit and talk about things either. Every visit was as normal as the times he spent with him before, except with less care about who might see. The pattern of him appearing eventually became enough that, on a whim, he thought to give him a key if he was planning on keeping it up. That key had been burning a hole in his pocket for a week and a half now and, true to form, he hadn’t _quite_ yet worked up the nerve to offer _that_ to him either. It wasn’t like it was even necessary – he had his own ways to come in when he came after hours – but there was a _gesture_ behind the sentiment and was, at that point, the only thing he felt could maybe - maybe - be the jumping off point he needed to start the conversation.

 

Eventually.

 

Near the end of the second month, Crowley made himself known again for what had to be his sixth trip away, showing up when Aziraphale had been busy doing things upstairs late into the night. The sun had been beginning to rise when he came back down and found Crowley sprawled out on his usual spot. Not bothering to hide the fond look seeing him there, he set about grabbing the light blanket he'd purposely started keeping downstairs to drape it around him. There was no stirring, though he did shift a little in his sleep to get as comfortable as he could be on a couch that certainly wasn't made to be long enough to accommodate him completely stretched out.

 

With that done, he turned to sit at his desk and paused when he found himself staring down at a box of familiar sweets. A small, delighted smile lifted on his face as he realized he’d gone quite a bit north this last particular trip it seemed, and at one point he’d apparently made a very specific detour for him. The impromptu offers of kindness seemed to have grown since things settled, and that morning was to be no different.

 

It felt like the sort of thing to _infer_ things from. Crowley was still a bit of an enigma, though, and Aziraphale knew he didn't trust himself to read things correctly when it came to him. He'd spent a better part of six thousand years in various stages of trying his best to lock down a dam of emotions he felt toward his enemy with for so many reasons, chief of which was his safety as well as his own. Now he was facing the fear of not the wrath of his side – he’d already been branded a traitor; you couldn’t get much worse than that – but of losing Crowley himself. He just couldn't rush into that, could he?

 

He sighed at length, sitting back in his chair and carefully opening the package to steal one of the candies out of it and pop it in his mouth. He wasn't sure how long he sat there, turning the thought over in his head instead of any of the work he'd planned on accomplishing. It was long enough he certainly didn’t notice the subtle start of small, agitated movements his companion next to him started to exhibit. In fact, it took the soft, muffled, delirious sounding whimper of ‘ _stop, stop_ ’ and then a far stronger ‘ _Aziraphale_!’ to finally do it. He’d just been closing the box of candies – he may have had more than one at that point – when he noticed something was amiss, the sound breaking the silence of the morning.

 

He looked over and was immediately and thoroughly alarmed. Crowley had at some point kicked off the blanket he'd thrown on top of him and legitimately looked pained, face scrunched and body curled in on itself, and the sight of it was enough to get him up out of his seat and quickly to his side. He reached out to shake him and was startled to find him fighting being touched.

 

“Crowley! Wake up!” he urged, dodging a flailing arm that came at him with a force he knew would've hurt if it fully connected. “Wake up!”

 

It took another good shake to rouse Crowley who, with a great gasp of startled air, sat up rigidly. There was a moment his gaze shot about, half-asleep and confused and scared in a way he hadn’t thought he’d ever seen him before he finally focused squarely on him.

 

“Angel,” he breathed out, sounding relieved. Before Aziraphale could even react, he found himself being forcefully pulled to him in a crushing hug that certainly wasn’t expected by any stretch of the imagination. The angle of it sent him off balance immediately and between the decision of ending up in his lap or ending up awkwardly plopping on the edge of the couch, he chose the latter.

 

They had never hugged like this in the entirety of the six thousand years they’d known each other. All of it left the angel bewildered enough to be in a state of shock, stiff in his arms. It was only when Crowley buried his face against his chest that he finally snapped out of it and reacted instinctively, wrapping his arms around him to hold him to give him the comfort he was seeking.

 

“It’s okay, it’s alright,” he soothed, even though he couldn’t possibly know right now if that was true at all. It seemed to do the trick, at least, because the trembling he could feel under his palms started to still. It was around then he imagined Crowley realized what he’d just done, because he tore out of the embrace just as suddenly as he started it, looking absolutely _mortified_.

 

“Shit, shit, shit,” he swore, not meeting Aziraphale’s gaze. “I – I wasn’t – I’m going to just -“

 

That last bit was when he reached out to grab him, hand coming down hard on his companion's shoulder because he very much knew the look of someone about to simply _flee_. He could see the outcome of allowing that to happen clearly – him disappearing for months, perhaps, if not more. _Unacceptable_.

 

“Easy. Take a few deep breaths, like this,” he instructed, then proceeded to demonstrate what he meant. Crowley seemed resistant at first, looking by all intents and purposes like a cornered animal. Slowly, though, very slowly, he could see the demon trying to unsteadily match the intake and exhale of his breathing. The tension in his gait slowly seemed to ease, and Aziraphale felt comfortable letting go of the death grip he had on his arm. He regarded his companion with a worried look once he settled back, one that Crowley did not seem to appreciate one bit when he noticed.

 

“I’m fine, Aziraphale,” he snapped, irritably, rubbing the last of the sleep out of his serpentine eyes.

 

“I’m not. I think you may have bruised a couple of my ribs,” he sighed, wincing a little as he tried to get comfortable on the very small sliver of the couch he was currently sitting on. Crowley ventured a glance over, his face twisting into an expression of brief concern. “A joke, my dear. Relax.”

 

Crowley scowled at him, replying, deadpan, “ _Hilarious_.”

 

Aziraphale knew him enough to know he was trying to shut down a conversation that was now certainly inevitable. He would give in often when he acted the way he was now, leave it be and give it time, but he knew this was a situation that called for more than hoping he'd suss it all out himself. Still, he couldn't help but feel like he was walking straight into a field of landmines that he couldn't possibly see. One wrong move could be disastrous and he approached it all accordingly The safest option to start was the most obvious question. “What _was_ that?”

 

It was a primer question, really. He knew better than to assume it’d be that easy to pry what was happening out of him. Sure enough, he folded his arms against his chest, as if it would double as a barrier between them.

 

“Oh, stop fussing, would you?” he complained, shooting him a warning look. Aziraphale would not be cowed.

 

“Not when something’s put you in this state,” he insisted, trying to sound firm, but not unkind. He could see he needed a much larger push. “You said my name, Crowley.”

 

He imperceptibly stiffened in a way that, had Aziraphale not been watching, he would’ve missed it entirely. He _did_ spot it, however, and he took it as a tell he was on the right track. Crowley opted to respond with the frustrating decision to answer with silence. At an impasse, he knew there was one thing he could do to probably break past whatever wall he’d decided to throw up.

 

He did not relish having to pull it, however.

 

“Do you not trust me?” he asked, making a show of it by his tone dipping into something approaching disappointment.

 

Guilt immediately danced across Crowley's features, just as he assumed it would. After a long beat of silence, he finally exhaled a loud, frustrated sigh, pulling his legs up closer and making room, his back now firmly against the arm of the couch as he sat up completely. Aziraphale took it as an invitation and shifted until he was sitting in a similar position against the other side of the couch, legs tucked up under him. It was a bit of a tight fit, but he wanted to stay facing him. Crowley wasn't looking back at him. “Look, It was a nightmare, that’s all.”

 

That certainly hadn't been what he expected the answer to be. “Nightmare?”

 

Crowley nodded, already looking increasingly petulant over having to talk about it. He had several questions, chief of which focusing on how often he had dreams to begin with. Aziraphale slept too rarely to have ever experienced any sort of dreaming that he could remember. He understood them as much as one could read about the sensation, but otherwise the few times he slept more than a short nap his mind was blissfully quiet. It hadn't even occurred to him that it wasn’t the same for the demon until that moment. Still, he had a feeling he wasn’t going to tolerate a round of curiosity questions right now, so he stuck to the more pointed, important ones.

 

“So you were having a nightmare and I was involved,” he summarized, mostly for his own benefit. He didn’t like that one bit, remembering just how distressed he’d looked. An anxious knot formed in his stomach as he wrung his hands a little in his lap. He’d pushed and gotten some of an answer, but now, suddenly, he wondered if he actually wanted to know the rest. “What in heavens was I _doing_ to you?”

 

Crowley’s gaze had drifted away from him again, staring off instead over his shoulder somewhere. A frown tugged at his lips. “What? Nothing. It’s all fire and you stuck in here, or up there, and I can’t get to you. I can’t -”

 

He trailed off, his jaw tightening as he swallowed. The grave error in assumption he'd been making was laid bare in front of him at that moment. When Crowley had opted not to talk about what they went through, he had assumed it was just a thing they were steadfastly putting in their past. He’d been wrong, apparently. All he could manage was a less than articulate, “Oh.”

 

“They didn’t seem to happen when I knew you were puttering about nearby somewhere in the vicinity,” he continued, shrugging a shoulder in a vain attempt to make this not a big deal. “Guess that’s out the bloody window. Nice while it lasted, I suppose.”

 

How casually he was explaining it all didn’t lessen the impact any. It’s tempting, again, to reach out. He so badly wanted to. “Crowley -”

 

“Nope. No,” he interrupted, giving him a hard look. “Not looking for your pity, angel. I told you, I’m fine. Dealing with it and all that. Forget you ever saw a thing.”

 

He wasn’t _fine_ , and he certainly wasn’t going to forget. Whatever he had tried already had apparently failed to stop what was happening. What was worse, whatever happening was his fault, technically, because the things he saw were directly related to him either coming here to find his shop in flames or going up above to take the heat – literally – in his place. There was a long stretch of silence as he wrestled with what he wanted to say. Nothing felt like enough.

 

“I think about it too, you know. Dour, terrible thoughts,” he settled on admitting, watching for reaction. “About what – what could’ve been, I mean. You in that awful bath instead. They threw in another demon, you know, and it was – I’m glad you never used what I gave you either, it was ghastly. That’s the thing, though, nothing happened to you and it didn’t happen to me, thanks to you.”

 

He remained stone-faced, but he at least wasn’t stopping him from talking. Aziraphale took it as permission to continue.

 

“And as for the fire, there’s nothing you could’ve done if that’s what you were thinking. Goodness, I don’t know if I would’ve found my way back if I hadn’t had you to focus on. Feeling like a bit of an ass right now, honestly, because I never did thank you for any of that, did I?” he realized, wincing at himself.

 

Crowley immediately made a face at being thanked. Despite everything, Aziraphale couldn’t quite help but smile.

 

“Yes, yes, you can stop making a big deal of it now,” he grumbled, slouching a little.

 

“Right,” he allowed. He hesitated briefly before reaching out and taking his hand in his own. The demon’s eyebrows lifted in surprise, but he didn’t pull away, allowed him to lace his fingers between his much longer, thinner ones. “You know, I asked you earlier if you trusted me. It was unfair of me, really, because I’ve done enough to you to have lost the right to request that. You’ve always deserved far better than how I’ve treated you.”

 

The surprise hadn’t left his companion’s face and Aziraphale could not bear to guess if it was the good or disapproving sort of surprise as his admittance bled into an apology he'd been wanting to make for a while now. He knew he could stop there, but there was one last thing he knew he wanted to say.

 

It was the most terrifying of all of it.

 

“I do care very deeply for you. Too deeply, maybe. I know that’s why I pushed you away, said those awful things,” he admitted softly, the words inadequate for the whole of his feelings, but it was _something_. He squeezed the hand still in his. “All of this to say - ah - if you need to talk, I'm here. I'm really, fully here."

 

Aziraphale expected one of two reactions. The first, and most likely, was he’d simply take the apology or shrug it off. The second, and what he probably deserved, was for the apology to be rebuffed because he'd certainly done more than a few words could make up for. Crowley opted into a third, unexpected reaction: he tugged hard on the hand still in his, dragging him closer, and he quite suddenly found himself being kissed.

 

Kissing had always been a bit of a novelty to Aziraphale. He knew the practice as something that felt good (sometimes _very_ good, given the partner) but ultimately was something he could do without. The first thing that struck him was how staggeringly different what was happening was to anything he'd experienced before. There were a few beats where he was honestly too stunned to do anything, pulse jumping to heights he was not aware was possible. The last functional vestiges of his mind that hadn’t just completely shut down urged him to _do_ something before his lack of response was read as a sign of non-consent. It was enough of a realization that kicked him in high gear as he shifted until he was completely in his lap, knowing it would be a far better angle for what was happening. Much better, in fact – the closeness allowed him to wind his hand around to cup the back of his head, sliding through the softness of his hair, while the other his other traveled up his back to press into it, palm flat against his suit coat. Spurred by the response, he could feel Crowley seize him and drag him closer until there was no space between them at all any longer. The muffled groan he makes in the back of his throat was enough to send a shiver up Aziraphale’s spine.

 

He could feel the metaphorical dam breaking entirely at that point, a deluge of want and longing that had been held back for so long washing over him and leaving him reeling. There was warmth too, overwhelming warmth that he swore spread through every bit of his being like wildfire, and in the haze of what was happening it took him a few moments for it to fully sink in what the source of it was. Who the source of it was.

 

How he had missed it, all of it, was beyond his capability of understanding.

 

Their parting was inevitable, though Aziraphale certainly keenly felt the loss when it finally happened. It was why he lingered close, forehead pressed against his, sharing breath. The warmth hadn’t receded, not one bit, and he found it somehow equal parts overwhelming as it is pleasant. It was a feeling he could not imagine being wrong or sinful by any stretch of any divine law. He had hoped, he had always hoped, but now?

 

Now he was never so sure he was right. He reached out to him after some small stretch of companionable silence lingering close, briefly cupping his cheek and using it to shift his gaze so he was looking at him. It was important for him to look at him.

 

“I’m here,” he repeated, a firm, quiet promise, reaching out to take Crowley’s hand and guiding it to press against his chest. The demon’s eyebrows knitted, looking at where his hand was resting, then back up at Aziraphale. He could see his features soften a few moments later, though there was still a wariness there that hurt him to see.

 

“You bloody well better be,” he warned with no bite to the words at all, his fingers loosely bunching the fabric underneath his palm.

 

Aziraphale imagined there was any number of things he could say in response to that, but better to show over telling, he decided. It was why he chose that moment to be the one to lean forward, mouth finding his once again. It was just as much of a jolt as the first time and he found Crowley to be wholly pliant, seeking all he was willing to offer.

 

It was no real wonder, then, that the initial sweetness of it all morphed so quickly into something far hungrier.

 

* * *

 

The thing about his abilities involving dreams was he wasn’t entirely sure if it worked on demons. Aziraphale had tried, at least, whispering honeyed words into his companion’s ear after he’d settled and was starting to drift off. It was a few hours later and he was sleeping soundly in bed with him, a blanket draped over the two of them.

 

Aziraphale had not bothered to open the shop. He hadn’t really bothered sleeping either, for that matter, though he had given a nap a good go of it. He'd woken up a half hour ago and chose to stay where he was, unwilling to wake up Crowley, who had slotted himself against him, their legs tangled up with each other. Perhaps a snake thing, he’d thought to himself, amused – seeking heat that he had no problem sharing. It all left him feeling blissfully at peace himself if he were honest. The day he’d pushed Crowley away for what he’d thought was the last time had been one of the worst moments of his life, and he hadn’t fully grasped why until now.

 

It hadn’t just been about losing his closest companion. He’d nearly ripped away from the most important aspect of why the world had always felt like home to him, more so than the stark, white halls Above could ever manage to be. It was a thought he knew ought to strike fear into him, but it doesn’t, and he supposed that would be something worth unpacking at some point.

 

Not now, though. He curled his free arm around the demon almost protectively and Crowley shifted closer in response, burying his face against his chest in a far less frantic way than earlier. It was the most disarmed he’d ever seen him, and something about that made him smile privately to himself. For as much as he nearly made a mess of things, to know he could still so comfortably be with him was –

 

Promising.

 

He pressed a brief, light kiss to the top of his forehead before letting his chin rest there, letting the closeness lull him into a sort of half-dozing state. He wasn’t sure how much time slipped by before he felt the telltale movement of stirring, sleepily shifting until his movements came to an abrupt halt, still in his arms.

 

He’d likely just woken up enough to understand he'd apparently moved in his sleep at some point. Aziraphale gently stroked the skin underneath his palm and, slowly but surely, he could feel the tension in his frame dissipate under the reassurance the touch was giving him. Still, he gently pushed away, enough that he wasn’t quite so pressed against him.

 

“Have a good sleep?” Aziraphale prompted, pleasantly, and the question immediately shifted to something he could see was clear _embarrassment_.

 

That was...unexpected.

 

“Angel, what exactly did you put in my head?” he asked, stabbing an accusing finger into his shoulder. Aziraphale lifted an eyebrow toward him, the picture of innocence.

 

“Good dreams. Things that make you happiest,” he responded, because, well, _obviously_.

 

“Ugh,” he groaned, flopping back onto the bed and throwing his arm over his face dramatically. A laugh bubbled out of him unbidden when he started to have a good guess of what was wrong. If he couldn't blame him for a particularly sweet dream, it meant his own mind had conjured it all on its own. He didn’t need to see the demon’s face to know he was probably scowling.

 

“So it _did_ work. Excellent,” he preened, not bothering to hide his cheeriness in the face of Crowley’s tantrum. Sitting up and letting the fabric of the blanket pool into his lap, he stretched the arm Crowley had been sleeping on out, working out the slight ache that came from not moving for so long. He regarded his companion then, pausing long enough to take him in. He was being far less modest about his current state of undress and it was hard not to find it distracting. “Do stop pouting, my dear. Whatever you just dreamt is better than the bad ones."

 

Crowley made a disgruntled-sounding noise and Aziraphale simply patted his hand and shifted until his legs were dangling over the side of the bed. It took him a moment to spot his pants among the clothing littering his bedroom floor, but he grabbed it once he found them and pulled them on. It would be the only thing he bothered to put on for a while.

 

“You’re not going to ask?” he heard Crowley inquire. He glanced over his shoulder toward him and found he was sitting up now, watching him.

 

“...I’m a bit curious, especially with the dramatics. Was I in this one as well? Is that the problem?” he prodded, smirking, and the look Crowley shot him answered the question for him. "I see."

 

“Smugness looks terrible on you,” he muttered, but he did not even bother to deny it.

 

“Mm, I do doubt that. But good, I'm glad it worked. Helpful to know for next time,” he mused, already making a mental note of it. He barely noticed Crowley was staring at him with a surprising bit of intensity until a lapse in conversation accompanied it. “What?”

 

“Being quite presumptuous, angel,” Crowley drawled, lifting a brow. It took him a moment to understand what he meant and he felt his face flush.

 

Just as expected, the inevitable slip-up came to pass. The options in front of him was to play dumb or talk to him. Considering how poorly the former would likely go down, it wasn't even a contest. There was no sense putting it off. As calmly as he could, he countered, “Am I wrong?”

 

Crowley was quiet at that. It made his stomach twist. Had he overstepped? The warmth he had felt was still very much present and if anything, it was stronger now. By all accounts, they were fine, but why did he look so plaintive?

 

“Shouldn’t you be worried?” he reminded in a softer voice than usual.

 

It was something he had finally thrown aside with great prejudice, actually. The subject was certainly a stopping point for him for a long time, convinced that even talking to him would send him metaphorically hurdling down. Six thousand years later, he hadn’t exactly regretted it – behaving meant Crowley had also stayed safe – but he also could see they were in a wildly different position now.

 

“We stopped a planned apocalypse and made both sides think we’ve gone native to get them off our backs,” he pointed out, evenly. He wanted to make sure Crowley knew he’d been thinking about it, because he could see the worry flitting across his features. “If I were to ever fall, it certainly would not be because of _this_.”

 

He could see Crowley grimace at that, certainly taking it as a point, though he wasn’t entirely appeased. “It’s another _notch_ , you have to admit. Doing this with me.”

 

To hear him talk that about himself never failed to hurt. He shook his head, pausing to concentrate. His wings unfolded with ease, vibrant white and pristine, and lingered long enough to be sure he saw them. Crowley’s gaze did immediately shift to them while they were out, a flash of reverence crossing his features. It was the same sort of look he’d had when he’d paused earlier to drink in the sight of him, and it still didn’t fail to make fluster immediately knowing he had that sort of effect. Still, he’d done this to make a point, to show him he was certainly still himself. Nothing had changed - in that regard, at least - in the aftermath.

 

“I feel it, you know. How you feel about me. I wasn't going to mention it because I didn't quite know how you'd react, but -” he asked, touching the spot on his chest he had touched when they talked about the subject outside the convent. He didn’t say the _word_ , though, wouldn’t take that from him if he ever wanted to use it at all. It was easy enough to spot when it connected with Crowley what he was implying, because it was hard to miss him sharply glance away. Aziraphale, trying not to make a big deal of it, simply continued, "Something _wrong_ wouldn't feel like this, is my point. I'm sure of it, And if I’m incorrect – well, this wouldn’t be something I’d be willing to budge on, regardless, so I suppose it doesn't matter.”

 

There was no way to stress more how stubborn he was going to be about it. He had a feeling Crowley had hit the point of accepting that because he let out a beleaguered-sounding sigh. There was a stretch of quiet before he suddenly looked at him with an expression that was nothing short of exasperated.

 

“Wait a tick, you only started feeling it _today_?" he demanded.

 

"Believe me, I don't understand it myself," he insisted, the guilt he'd been feeling over the fact immediately spilling out the moment he was called out. He'd been mulling over the same thing earlier, when he'd been asleep. "My best guess is I was too cowardly to notice it, because it feels familiar now that I'm focusing on it. Like it's always been..."

 

He trailed off before finishing the sentence, a realization well and truly sinking in. His life had been long enough by then that so much of it was a blur at that point that he couldn't possibly remember a time around him where it hadn't been there. How long was it like this while he was feeling the same way? Crowley seemed to pick up where his mind was going because he looked distinctly uncomfortable.

 

"Right then," he declared suddenly, interrupting his thoughts and moving the conversation on with a wave of his hand. "You win. Arguing _against_ you misbehaving is starting to leave a horrible taste in my mouth. Disgusting."

 

So dramatic. Aziraphale, taking the hint, decided it really didn't matter in the end, did it? He pushed the thoughts aside, a wide smile forming.

 

“That's too bad, you were doing very good," he brightly complimented, a mischievous glint in his eye. “I _knew_ I’ve been a good influence on you over all these years. Perhaps with a bit more practice -”

 

The pillow that thudded solidly into his gut had been wholly unexpected, though he’d allow that he probably _deserved_ at least that for the comment.

 

* * *

 

 

It took some amount of persuasion, but Aziraphale managed to convince Crowley that surely they ought to do at least _one_ thing that didn’t involve holing themselves up in the little flat above his store that day. Crowley had put up a good fight against the idea, about why they were fine right where they were, but he’d stood firm – somehow – in the face of the temptation.

 

A quick dinner, that was all. The same sort they always had, but for abundantly obvious reasons, things felt different. Mentally chastising himself for having _nerves_ that ought not to be there, he paced about the shop as he waited for Crowley, eventually moving into the back room. It was only then that he saw the long-forgotten candies, hastily and sloppily shoved into its pack and forgotten. They were probably stale.

 

“There you are,” he heard Crowley announce. He turned to look at him in a way that signaled at someone badly hiding the fact he was waiting to be _invited_ to approach, hands stuffed into his pockets. They were in new territory and he knew that much as he wanted to grab him and pull him close. It would be improper, but oh, to see his face if he did. “Well, angel? We off?”

 

He smiled his way, lifting the little box for him to see. “In a moment. It did want to say thank you for these. They're every bit as good as the last time I had them."

 

“Knew you’d pitch a fit if you found out I hadn’t gone to the shop,” he shrugged. An unsurprising sidestep on his part, but he'd simply have to get used to this. No oversight for the foreseeable future meant he could finally offer his gratitude freely and he truly thought Crowley needed to hear it. Perhaps he’d feel comfortable accepting it one day. He hoped so.

 

Things were changing, after all. Terrifying a concept as it was.

 

“Maybe,” he agreed, though he certainly wouldn’t have. They both knew that. “I did want to repay you regardless. Open your hand?”

 

Crowley eyed him suspiciously but did as he asked, pulling his hand one of his pockets and holding it out to him, palm open. Slipping the key from his own pocket, he walked over and placed the small metal piece into his hand, closing his fingers around it. He stepped away then and watched him take a look at what was in his hand. Seeing it didn’t seem to clue him in any as to the significance of what he’d been given. “A key?”

 

Aziraphale had thought he would be more nervous. Being bolstered by knowing perhaps Crowley needed reassurance he still hadn’t changed his mind about everything apparently did wonders to his resolve.

 

“Well, you’ve been staying here enough that it was starting to seem ridiculous you _didn’t_ have one,” he explained matter-of-factly, though he was eying his reaction a little too closely to really play at being confident everything wasn’t going to go over terribly. “I know a locked door is a minor inconvenience at best, but I thought you ought to have it regardless. Come and go as you please, you’re always welcome here.”

 

Crowley lifted a brow, not bothering to hide his surprise, and Aziraphale was immediately struck with intense worry he might back away, might decide it was too much at once. The silence between them felt endless and he was just about to start backpedaling in what would likely be the most awkward way possible when his companion finally shoved the key into his pocket.

 

“There’ll be no getting rid of me now,” he warned, airily. His mouth had twitched up in a smile though, one he didn’t bother to hide for once. Aziraphale felt a familiar twist in his gut seeing it – he really did have a good one, warm and welcoming in ways he doubted Crowley even comprehended about himself.

 

“That’s the idea, dear boy,” he replied, earnestly, wanting to make that perfectly clear before he motioned to the door. “Shall we?”

 

He expected him to jump at the chance at moving on and not having to react to what he'd said. He didn’t, though, lingering where he was standing. When he did turn around, Aziraphale started forward, only to be stopped by him offering him the crook of his arm. His gaze flicked up to his face and could see he was watching him over his shoulder, looking by all rights anxious about it. His expression softened and without a word, he smoothly came up beside him, pressed a light kiss against his cheek, and linked his arm with his. The demon relaxed a little in the face of that encouragement.

 

Small steps, that's all they both needed. Small steps that were already infinitely easier doing together. It was no real surprise, he mused, as they left the bookstore arm-in-arm. When _hadn't_ that been the case, really, in all the years they'd known each other?

 

Some things didn't _have_ to change.

**Author's Note:**

> Well, this canon certainly took my whole heart when I didn't expect it to. I hope you enjoyed my first foray into writing these two. You can find me flailing on both [tumblr](https://gottanerdout.tumblr.com/) and [twitter](https://twitter.com/gottageekout) \- feel free to say hello!


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